Volgograd c. 1970s

Georgi Zelma made this gelatin silver print, Volgograd, sometime in the mid twentieth century, and it's the kind of image that gets under your skin. Look at how the ghostly statue hovers in the background, its edges dissolving into the atmosphere, while the stark, angular power lines in the foreground seem so solid, so present. The contrast makes you think about time and memory, about how history shapes the present. The texture is incredible, isn't it? That grainy, almost gritty feel you get from the silver gelatin. You can practically feel the air, thick with humidity or maybe even a little bit of melancholy. There's a real tension between the monumentality of the statue and the everyday industrial landscape, like two worlds colliding on a single plane. It reminds me a little of some of the early Soviet photographers, like Rodchenko, who were also interested in capturing the energy and dynamism of modern life. It's about progress, but it's also about loss, and that tension is what makes it so compelling.